


Stretch

by Wanderer (Straggler)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mansion Fic, Other, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too soft, that’s what Charles is, and it’s what Erik wants to correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again, on the start of a new adventure. Isn't that exciting?
> 
> This is...basically an extra set of scenes from the mansion; an extended version of their training, if you will. I know there's plenty of those out there, but hell, this is just my thoughts on it. Hope you all will enjoy reading it!
> 
> Also, I have a feeling that this will be a fairly short story, like maybe 5 chapters, but that's just what I'm getting from the draft, anyway.
> 
> AND! Alex and Sean DO make an appearance, but as they don't have any speaking roles, I excluded them from the character tags. Depressing, I know.

He could see how Alex was straining but determined to better his control over his power. He could see the resolve to not fall but _fly_ in Sean’s eyes as he raised his arms and stepped over the edge. He could see how Raven was brimming with much more confidence than he has ever seen her as she fought and trained with the equipment in the gym in her natural state and he could see the pull of his muscles and the smile on Hank’s lips as he slowly came to terms with himself and his mutation.

 

Erik noticed how everybody was training; their mutations, their tactical skills and their hand-to-hand combat ability. Even Hank, whom he had never thought capable of raising a fist, knew a few self-defense moves to protect himself, or at least his head. McCoy might not have the accuracy, no thanks to his eyesight, but he’s got the punch and the speed to deliver it. The chances of him getting a knock-out after a few hit-and-miss attempts were significantly higher than the chances of Charles ducking in time or getting out of the way.

 

Everybody was training, everybody except Charles. It’s time to change that.

 

\--

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

Erik ignored the confounded tone and bewildered expression on Charles’ face as he looked over the soon-to-be-theirs training ground. With an uneasy air, Charles stood by the man’s side to gaze over the mound of weeds growing over the edges of their designated patch of soil onto the tall grass.

 

It used to be his mother’s garden, which she left the majority of the work to the employees they had at the time, but it’s been years since anyone’s taken care of it and it’s been overrun. All the bushes are dead, the roses are barely clinging to life and the undesirables have thoroughly taken over what used to be a brilliant garden. Charles sighed. He remembered the vibrancy it used to have during the spring and summer months, the warmth during the fall and the crisp purity during the winter.

 

‘We’ll start with the plots,’ Erik said as he moved straight ahead to the gardening shed tucked out of sight. It had been placed there so it wouldn’t interfere with the picture of perfection the garden was supposed to exude. Charles was surprised that Erik even noticed it, especially now that it has a thick layer of ivy leaves shielding it, but he supposed it’s only because the shed has tools made of familiar metal in it that the man’s ability couldn’t help but sense.

 

‘Wait, I don’t understand, what is it that you’re trying to do?’ He asked as he caught up to the man who easily pried the doors open with a wave of his hand. A rusty garden fork came in contact with his fingers with another easy wave.

 

‘Training,’ he replied as he gave Charles the garden fork, but not before giving the top layer of metal a quick shake-off, picked another a shovel for himself then proceeded to the nearest weed-covered patch of dirt.

 

Charles could sense an air of determination from the man, a kind of thrill and eagerness that showed in the way he moved. He promised himself that he wouldn’t read anybody’s mind without asking, but he was close to it; he wanted to find out what Erik was planning for them with a shovel and a garden fork. Surely not menial labor?

 

‘How will gardening help with our training?’ He asked as he watched the man dig the shovel deep into the earth, right through the dandelions, then turned to Charles.

 

‘You ask far too many questions.’

 

‘And you don’t elaborate enough,’ he retorted with a touch too much impatience.

 

Erik’s mouth twitched just the slightest bit, but it was gone before the smirk could fully settle on his lips. ‘Your mind may be strong, but your body is lacking.’

 

Charles felt mildly offended by that. He knew he wasn’t exactly in tip-top condition like Erik was, but he still exercised in-between his thesis papers and studies back in Oxford, and he still went on his maybe three times a week afternoon runs. He thought he was pretty average, or at least above average, when it came down to muscle mass. Though, apparently, it wasn’t enough.

 

‘I’m a professor, what do you expect?’ He couldn’t help but retort. He’s seen other men worse off than him.

 

‘You’re a professor,’ Erik agreed as he turned back to the weeds, ‘but we don’t need intellects in the fits of war,’ he began digging at the ground with barely a strain in his muscles or a hitch in his breath. ‘Strategy is one thing,’ he said into the second dig, ‘but strategy is only half of what is necessary;’ the mound of turned earth beside him is growing by the shovel-full and Charles’ grip tightened on the gardening tool as the man continued to work away with a glaring sense of determination, as if he could dig a tunnel to the other side of the world without losing his breath, ‘action is the other and what completes the mission.’

 

Charles admired the resolve in Erik’s movements as he continued to do the bulk of the work, but Charles still didn’t know if doing the gardening would help with anything but make a huge mess of the area. In the end, he sighed in resignation and decided if this was what Erik wanted to do to help improve the state of his body, then so be it.

 

With a shove, he forced the fork into the ground, but it took more effort to pull it back out than he was willing to admit. Beside him, Erik couldn’t help but smirk as the man began to grow tired into the eighth dig. This is going to be _fun_ , for him, at least.

 

\--

 

Charles couldn’t remember the last time he had strained himself this much. There had been the slightest of aches in his arms and legs when he retired earlier than usual in the previous night, but he hadn’t thought it would increase in ferocity in the morning. He woke up sporadically in the night, the dull throb growing and growing until it became almost unbearable. The only reason he was able to go back to sleep was out of sheer exhaustion. Then came the sun and it felt like the first days of high school physical education all over again. It was _grueling_. And breakfast became a chore.

 

‘I guess you had a bad night?’ Raven asked as she took in his disheveled appearance and sat down next to him with a cup of orange juice in hand.

 

His hair was badly done, like he ran his fingers through it rather than use a comb or hadn’t even bothered with it. There were bags under his eyes as if he had been fighting off insomnia and lost terribly, and his limbs were hanging uselessly beside him rather than holding onto the cup of earl grey that was steadily growing colder and colder the more he ignored it in favor of concentrating on anything and everything but the soreness is his arms and thighs.

 

Raven wondered what they did yesterday. He knew that both he and Erik had walked off to other parts of the property but she didn’t know where or what they were doing. They mentioned training, but they came back with mud all over their shoes and the bottom of their track-pants and Charles was uncharacteristically quiet during dinner after they cleaned up.

 

‘I suppose you could say it was a very bad night.’ He turned his eyes down towards his tea, but he made no move to drink it.

 

‘What happened?’ She asked carefully.

 

She remembered the times when they were younger and he used to have a lot of nightmares. Or, well, other people’s nightmares. Back then, he didn’t have the skills to fully stop himself from absorbing it or projecting it back out and she often had to wake him up before everybody in the house started screaming like he had been. It still happened from time to time, but it comes by very rarely now and only during times of great stress. The last time had been back in Oxford before his final exams for his professorship.

 

‘Let’s just say that I remember my immense dislike for physical education,’ he said as he raised a hand to the cup and brought it up to his lips with a gentle shake. He drank all of it in one go.

 

She noticed the blistered on his fingers, some looked disgustingly painful. ‘Is this about yesterday’s training session you had with Erik? What did the both of you do?’ Whatever is was, it involved mud and lots of it. Though it didn’t look as though they were fighting; Charles didn’t have a scratch on him, except on his hands.

 

‘Good morning.’

 

Raven turned towards Erik and nodded her greetings. Something about him made her feel uncomfortable, yet at the same time, intrigued. She supposed it was attraction, because he was the only one who voiced his appeal to her natural blue appearance while others only mentioned conformity.

 

Erik gave her a passing glance along with a raised eyebrow at her facade, but he didn’t question or comment. Instead, he passed their table, grabbed an apple in the fruit bowl by the counter and gave the man a light cuff on the shoulder as he passed again. ‘Charles, let’s go.’

 

He sighed then stood up with the slightest of struggles, but he followed regardless. ‘Gardening.’ Charles said in answer to Raven’s last question to him, then he followed Erik out of the kitchen and out of the house. He was not looking forward to it.

 

\--

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

Erik raised an eyebrow at the repeated question in exactly the same tone with exactly the same face. It was like déjà vu. ‘Do you have a hearing problem, Charles?’ He teased seriously.

 

‘What? No, I mean—no more gardening?’ He asked hopefully.

 

‘Not today,’ he said and noticed the dread and the _slump_ in the man’s posture when he said so, ‘that is only one part of your training.’

 

Charles sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the ache in his fingers and the tension he felt in his thighs as they tried to hold his weight up. ‘Explain to me again.’ He didn’t understand why he had to go through this; his abilities lie within the mind, he was a Telepath, not a brawler.

 

Erik frowned, wondered why this was so hard for Charles to understand, but he explained it again, for the sake of clarity. ‘You are imbalanced; strong in mind but weak in body, we need to change that.’

 

Charles had an average mass of muscle for a man of his profession and size, but it wouldn’t be enough to win and Erik desperately wanted to _win_. Everybody else was trying, so he didn’t see why Charles should be exempt from that.

 

Charles wanted to protest, vehemently, and while he wouldn’t mind the thought of exercising and pushing his physical limits as far as he could go, he’d really prefer if he could at least have a day’s rest first, or at least go at his own pace. He was about to say so when Erik crossed his arms and said sternly, ‘so, like I said, today, we’ll be sparring instead.’

 

Charles wondered what happened to the man that used to drink and play chess with him. He’d like him back now, please.

 

‘Do you know how to fight?’

 

‘I am a gentleman,’ he said so with conviction. Charles has never raised a fist against anyone in his entire life, and he never thought he would ever have to start.

 

Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes. Charles was the embodiment of a real gentleman, except when he’s drunk and flirty. ‘A gentleman, that of which I have no doubt,’ he sighed, ‘but soldiers won’t care whether you are a gentleman or not, there’s no time or room to be _gentle_ in the middle of a war; they won’t hesitate to bring a gun to your face and shoot you, and kill you.’

 

Blood, there was so much blood, raining down on him, splattering across his face, gathering in his clothes and dripping off his fingers.

 

Charles shuddered at the image, his hands shook at the feeling of warm liquid sliding down his fingers, and he fervently hoped it was merely Erik’s imagination rather than a memory. But knowing the man, he doubted it was anything but the whole truth.

 

Erik could see the distress in the Charles’ face and in the way he was holding himself together, but this was for the better. He might come off as overbearing but this was for the man’s benefit, so he’d push and push, almost as much as Charles pushed him to use his powers to the best of his abilities. It’s only fair that he assisted Charles in finding that balance, even if he ends up nursing more than five bruises a day regardless of whether the last batch has fully healed or not.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Charles woke up with a groan. His whole body ached; his head, his _face_ , his chest, his gut, his arms, his _fingers_ , his thighs, his shins, his feet and even his _toes_. Everywhere _hurt_.

 

They alternated between gardening one day and sparring (or in Erik’s case, beating Charles to a pulp) the next day. It’s been four days and Charles was ready to throw in the towel and just give up, he didn’t care if this was going to be helpful to him in the long run anymore, he figured he’d be lucky if he could ever run again at this rate.

 

He wondered the possibility of hiding within the safety of his room today and just rest. But as soon as the door started knocking and Erik started calling him, he decided the possibility was nil. Erik was like a weed; tenacious.

 

‘I’m awake!’ Though, it was highly unlikely that he could get _up_. Everything felt like lead. No, it felt like he was being encircled by lead and that he had been shoved off a boat into a dark, bottomless sea. It was murky.

 

The door opened and Erik walked in without invitation. He sat by the bed and stared down at the man with something like amusement in his eyes.

 

‘I’m _hurt_ ,’ he said, hoping that would be excuse enough to rest, at least for today. There was a steady throbbing rhythm all over his body and it wasn’t the good kind.

 

‘Charles,’ he began almost fondly as he patted the man on the sternum, where he was sure a bruise was still healing, ‘this is nothing.’

 

He sighed exasperatedly, winced at the pain then huffed at the ceiling. ‘I’m not made like you, Erik; I can’t fit years of training into mere days and weeks’.

 

‘No,’ he agreed with a drop in his mood, ‘but we can start with the basics.’

 

Guilt clawed his way into his chest, multiplying his hurts by at least two times more. He wanted to try harder, because he was certain this would be beneficial to him; another skill to add to his list, but he honestly could take no more, not today. ‘One day, please,’ he’d beg on his knees if he could, ‘just let me rest.’

 

Erik smirked and patted his cheek, the one with the dark purple bruise. Charles winced and tried valiantly to shove the man away, but ultimately failed with a flop of his arm.

 

Erik wondered how many bruises were littering across the man’s body. He couldn’t tell because of the pajamas, but he could see the slightest hint of discoloration at the button of his collar, probably the sternum. He didn’t think he hit too hard or too roughly, but Charles was a delicate man; he never had to go through the kind of hurts that Erik grew up with. But for that, he was thankful.

 

‘Charles, I know this is hard…’ he paused, and thought better than to continue. Instead, he shook his head and got up from the bed to leave the man alone, ‘I’m glad you were not made to be like me.’

 

He closed the door quietly behind him and missed the look of concern on Charles’ face, but he felt the wave of sincere gratitude following him all throughout the day, along with the occasional thought of _it hurts!_

 

\--

 

They’ve gone through a huge portion of the backyard now, but it still looked more like patches of dirt and grass than a real garden. They’ve gotten rid of the dead bushes, transferred the roses to a different part of the mansion so it could grow and absorb the nutrients from a different mound of soil and they’ve killed most of the weeds off but they were tenacious things. Almost like Hydras; kill one and two more grow in its place.

 

It was a back-breaking chore, and while Charles could feel the strain in his muscles, the way they pulled and pushed and hurt, it was a good kind of stress on his body. He could tell with the way his punches were hitting harder than before now, though they were still no comparison to Erik’s. After a good rest, he felt quicker with his throws, though he still lacked stamina, strength and tactic. He wondered how he would be able to learn those from just gardening and sparring. He supposed it would be something that came with experience, and the thought the he’d have to enter a real fight one day filled his stomach heavy with dread.

 

Charles wiped the sweat from his forehead, forgot the fact that his hands were covered in dirt and Erik tried not to smile at the mess on his face, but it was a good look.

 

Erik had always thought of Charles as a man without defenses, the way he presented himself made him seem soft, carefree and useless in a fight. But he could see the flex of muscle in his arms, the determination in his stance and the occasional glint in his blue eyes; the training is doing some good. It’s still very easy for Erik to think of the man as yielding, but he can tell that Charles is slowly, but surely, tearing that image down and building up a stronger one.

 

If that fails, well, his looks can still be very deceiving.

 

\--

 

Charles couldn’t breathe, his lungs burned ferociously if he tried to gulp in more air than he could handle. His throat felt parched and his arms were quietly shaking in time with his knees as he tried to keep himself standing and upright. The only improvement was that he wasn’t lying dead on the floor like the first three times he went through this.

 

His cheek hurt, the one that wasn’t bruised, and there was a harsh kink in his neck from when Erik punched him and he snapped to the side. He figured he must look a right mess, but he hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror to assess all the damage, his vanity kept him well away from that.

 

As usual, Erik seemed unaffected, though there was the slightest gathering of sweat across his forehead, but that could just be the sun beating down on their backs and the hot weather.

 

‘Lunch?’

 

‘I’d prefer to sleep the rest of today away, but lunch is fine.’ Charles said as he straightened up and took his time walking back to the house. Erik tried not to smile at the man’s disheveled state. There was a slight discoloration on the man’s collar bone, from where he tried to dodge but went the wrong way instead.

 

Lunch was simple and quiet. Erik mentioned bringing weapons into their next session, it was something that really couldn’t be avoided; the possibility of having a gun drawn at them was much higher than the chances of a fight being fought with nothing but their bare fists, but Charles insisted that not only was he not even the slightest bit ready, but he was most definitely not capable of adding more to his plate; he could barely keep up.

 

‘I’m happy that I’ve found that I have slightly better regenerative properties than a normal person does,’ he doubted he’d be able to _stand_ if it weren’t the case.‘But I’m not willing to test that out with guns and knives.’

 

Erik smirked as he hovered a kitchen knife close to Charles’ arm, only half-teasing. The man huffed and attempted to bat away the knife with a fork but it stayed firmly two inches away from skin.

 

Then Hank came in and stumbled at the sight. ‘What are you doing?!’ He practically screamed.

 

Erik rolled his eyes and sheathed the knife back in the wooden block specifically designed for kitchen use. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said honestly as he bit into a simple bread, butter and ham sandwich.

 

‘That,’ he said with a point at Charles’ bruised face, ‘is _not_ nothing.’

 

Charles winced as the picture of a bruise professor appeared at the forefront of his mind; Hank’s image of him. He then realized that the illusion he usually put up for others to see is down, but then thought better than to hide it when it was already made obvious. He sighed. ‘Hank, I’m fine. Erik and I were only discussing the possibilities of whether a gun or knife drawn at us would be high or not.’

 

‘It will be,’ Erik promised.

 

‘Discussing…’ Hank wasn’t too convinced that ‘discussing it’ was all they did. He still has the image of the knife lingering around Charles stuck in his head, but the thought of weapons was a good topic to ponder over. ‘I’ll have to redesign the suits, then.’ _Make it sturdier; absorb more impact._

 

Charles smiled, glad for the distraction. ‘Well, that would be good; you never know how things will turn out.’ Charles said as he drank the rest of his orange juice, feeling much better now that he’s got food in his tummy and a place to rest a while. It felt good to be out of the sun, too.

 

Not only has he been straining his muscles and accumulating bruises all across his body, but he’s been trying to ease the sunburn across his neck, along his face, and every part of his body that he exposed to the sun, too. Erik did not seem affected at all, which was completely unfair because Charles often finished the day looking like a bruised and beat-up tomato.

 

‘But training? With guns and knives?’ Hank looked at Erik with a mixture of both fear and fury. Fear because the man still intimidated him (he shoved Sean off the satellite dish, for one thing), and fury, because now that he’s taken a better look, he has never seen Charles look so worse for wear. ‘Nobody said anything about shooting and stabbing each other for training.’

 

Erik smiled, but it was all teeth and no genuine happiness. ‘You’re ignorant if you think the world would only retaliate with sticks and stones, fists and kicks, than with guns and knives.’

 

‘I’m not ignorant,’ he said with lowered eyes, as if he was speaking more truth than he’s willing to admit, but he resolved himself to return Erik’s firm gaze, ‘let me join you.’

 

Charles wanted to protest, to say that they’re _not_ going to train with weapons, but the constant stream of thought coming from Hank, _I want to learn, I want to prove myself, I can do this_ , made him pause. Perhaps this is a kind of push that Hank needs that Charles isn’t capable of giving. He turned to see Erik’s reaction, and was just a little worried at the manic grin the man was giving. So was Hank, now that he’s noticed.

 

Erik finished lunch eagerly, almost giddy at the fact that he might have someone else to push around for a change. Charles could tell by the way he’s smiling, walking, and the way he’s exuding so much more energy than before, _the prospect of a new thrill_.

 

‘Well then, McCoy, show me what you’ve got.’

 

Timid, though the man was, he squared his shoulders and threw the first punch. He missed.

 

Hank knew his basics; he’s got the power and the speed. He almost caught Erik on the cheek when he thought the man couldn’t be any faster. He was wrong, but his aim was still horrendous.

 

‘Your accuracy is terrible.’

 

Hank faltered and fumbled with his glasses, pushing it back up more securely on his nose. ‘I-I know, and I’ve considered contacts, but they’re fragile.’ It would probably do more harm than good in the end. He didn’t want to entertain the thought of blundering around in the middle of a fight looking for his missing contact.

 

‘Take off your glasses.’

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

Erik smiled. _The both of you share a commonality,_ he thought to Charles and remembered the two other times where the man said the exact same thing in almost the exact same way.

 

‘If it’s a bother, then fight without them. If you lose your glasses in the middle of a fight, people won’t stop and wait for you to pick them back up again to continue properly.’

 

‘But I-’

 

‘Learn to fight without them. If it drops, then it creates the image that you’re useless without it. When their defenses are down, you can strike. So take them off, now.’

 

There was a certain ring of knowledge in what Erik was saying, but that didn’t stop the wave of uncertainty from showing on Hank’s face and posture as he took them off. Everything was blurry, but he could see the outline of where Erik stood. He squinted at the lack of clarity and stumbled towards where he assumed Charles to be and held it out for him to look after.

 

‘You’re about five feet away from me,’ Charles said with a smile in his voice. A blush was growing on the man’s cheeks, spreading right to the tips of his ears as he stumbled three more steps until his fist lightly bumped into Charles’ chest. ‘I’ll look after these for you.’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

Hank was barely ready when Erik attacked with a brutal fist to his stomach. It was vicious, almost cruel in the way he was teaching Hank to protect himself and fight without the aid of his glasses, but the more hits Erik put in, the more Hank resolved himself to try harder, aim and punch.

 

Erik didn’t hold back with him the way he does with Charles. In a way, Charles is comforted by that fact, but in another, he can’t help but feel like he’s being coddled.

 

\--

 

That night, Charles couldn’t make himself change into his pajamas top, even if his old routines and habits _want_ him to. He could barely change into a pair of pants before he crawled over his bed and fell asleep. He didn’t even switch off the lights.

 

Erik noticed, and thought the man was still awake, even though the hour was late. He knocked and opened the door without prompt and saw that Charles was already deeply unconscious, lying on his stomach above the covers.

 

There were some nights where the temperatures dropped to a cold degree, and there were some mornings where frost gathered on the window sill but melted before the sun rose from beyond the horizon.

 

He drew the blanket over Charles, but not before counting the bruises, some older, and some that he gained only just this afternoon.

 

There was a dark bruise on the underside of his ribs, finger prints on his biceps where Erik had gripped too hard and threw the man across his shoulder, discoloration on his waist down to his hips and a yellowing bruise on one cheek. He could see his cracked knuckles from throwing punch after punch and hitting Erik (‘are you made of bricks?’ he commented harshly one time), they were still red and raw, though they no longer bled. There were probably still more (on the sternum and the solar plexus) but they were covered and hidden.

 

They will heal in time, and unlike the other injuries Erik’s had, the ones on Charles won’t scar. He made sure of it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

‘So, this is where you’ve been.’

 

Charles missed his mark of where he wanted to dig into the ground and almost found himself making a very friendly acquaintance with the mud. He turned to Raven with surprise evident in his face and voice as he half-said and half-shouted, ‘Raven, what are you doing here?’

 

‘Hank told me what you’ve been doing; why didn’t you say?’ She asked as she strolled up to him with a grace that didn’t help much to hide away the mischief in her eyes.

 

She looked happy. He didn’t know whether it’s because she finally found out what Charles had been doing, or if it’s because Hank talked to her about it.

 

‘Well, I did say,’ he tried to justify himself. At the time, it had been true, and it wasn’t until a little later that he found out that it had only been half-true.

 

‘But you didn’t say you were also getting kicked around by Erik; I would’ve loved to see it,’ she added with a playful wink.

 

‘I am not getting kicked around by Erik,’ he finished in a huff as he dug the gardening fork deep into the ground and left it there so he could have his hands free.

 

‘Of course not,’ she poked him in the face and laughed when he winced and promptly batted her hand away.

 

‘I’m not!’ He insisted. The only times where Erik used his feet was to trip him over, not kick him into the ground. When he caught her smug look, it was then he realized that he was whining, just a little bit. He sighed in defeat.

 

‘Raven,’

 

She jumped at the voice and whipped around to see Erik walking up to them with a muddy shovel in hand.

 

‘Did you need something?’ He gave Charles a quick look over her shoulder but focused his attention mainly on her while she focused mainly on the gardening tool.

 

‘I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing with that shovel,’ she said, half-joking and half-serious at the same time.

 

‘It’s not what you think,’ Charles protested. He caught a projected look of Erik kicking him down to the ground and hitting him over the head with it. Since when did Raven have such a violent imagination? He shuddered to know. He wished he could get rid of the sound of metal hitting over flesh out of his head, too.

 

‘What do you want?’ Erik asked her again as he effortlessly dug the shovel deep into the ground and stared at her.

 

Raven was shaking subtly, both with anticipation and a bit more with panic rushing through her veins as she took in his cool, aloof expression. He’s not bad, she knows that, because Charles is constantly defending him whether he means to or not. She’s only seen Erik a handful of times, but all those times she’s felt nothing from him but the feeling of complete control and high authority.

 

She doesn’t know if she’s shaking because she admires his strength, out of anxiety or something else entirely. But she opened her mouth and forced her voice to work for her. ‘I—well, I was…’ It was a terrible attempt.

 

Charles sighed. ‘Raven,’

 

‘Don’t you have your own training to do?’ Erik cut in.

 

She didn’t like it, this dismissal, but she forced herself to straighten her back, stare him in the eyes, and say what’s been on her mind for the last couple of days since she saw Charles drink his tea with blisters on his hands and fingers, finish the day with a total slump in his posture but start the next day with a different kind of determination shining in his eyes. ‘I want you could teach me how to fight. Hank said you helped him.’

 

Hank has taken to walking around without his glasses on now. He bumped and created quite a bit of chaos around the house, but after a few hours of sheer frustration, he seemed to have a firmer grasp of his capabilities, meaning, he doesn’t walk straight into walls anymore. Charles didn’t mind the complete wreck of a few antiques around his house if it meant that the man’s confidence is slowly building with each stumbled step.

 

Erik raised an eyebrow at her and her question. Then a predatory grin appeared on his face, the exact same one as when Hank asked him the same thing. _The prospect of another new thrill._

 

‘Erik,’ Charles began in warning. If the man so much as left a dark bruise on her skin then he would be very, very unhappy. It’s one thing to go through that kind of hurt to improve himself, but he wouldn’t wish any of it on his sister.

 

‘Relax, Charles;’ Erik admired that kind of brotherly concern, but that didn’t mean that she should allow herself to be smothered, ‘everybody needs to find their own pair of shoes to fit into,’ he said as he re-rolled his sleeves and gestured for her to follow him out into the open field.

 

She followed him uncertainly, but she gave Charles a reassuring nod of her head as she stood a good ten feet away from the other. He watched from the side with growing anticipation, but after a few minutes, he realized he was wrong to doubt Erik and Raven.

 

Erik was firm, but gentle in his teachings, and Raven was very capable of defending herself and was quick to learn and absorb everything that Erik could teach her in that short amount of time. Her punches were weak, but she was swift. Erik found that if she hit the exact same spot over and over and over again in quick succession, they start to hurt quite dearly.

 

‘It’s not about power,’ he said as he placed a hand over his ribs, ‘not for you.’ He then proceeded to teach her about the human anatomy, where to hit to deal the most damage and what nerves to strike to make people drop in a boneless heap on the ground.

 

‘Learn these intimately,’ he said and ignored the blush on her cheeks as he said so. He didn’t know if it was from exertion or from his choice of words. ‘Once you know all about the body’s sensitive spots, then you’re more than capable of incapacitating any man that stands in your way.’

 

Raven touched the spot behind her neck, the same spot she’s been told would make any grown man faint if she put in enough effort into her attack. No hesitation.

 

‘Remember my advice,’ he paused and stared at her pointedly, ‘all of them.’

 

She frowned and turned to Charles.

 

This is enough; she knows enough to defend herself with, but it’s not what she came to see Erik for. Ever since Hank finished his own sessions with Erik, he’s become more comfortable in his skin, and she wants that, too. She needs it. But…

 

‘There’s no time to think twice in the middle of a battle, no room to hold back.’ Erik said, another push to make her come to a decision and make up her mind. ‘If you want to do this, then do it properly.’

 

Charles watched her carefully, just as she was with him. His blue eyes were filled with pride at her progress but also with self-imposed shame that he hasn’t been doing anything to help her at all. He’s been protecting her from the darker side of the world for so long, she knows that; it’s what any big brother would do for a younger sister. But it’s enough. It’s time to take matters into her own hands, to stand up for herself, for what she believes in and for who she is.

 

Her skin shimmered against the sunlight and she returned his blue gaze with her golden eyes. There was a moment of fear in his eyes, _the world isn’t ready_ , but she returned it with a firm nod and a new sense of determination radiating off her. _The world isn’t ready, but I am._

 

‘Now, try again.’

 

Her punches held more power behind them, and now that she no longer has to keep a thought on how to keep up with appearances, her agility has increased two, no, three-fold. It was amazing to watch.

 

The day finished without any of them being ready for it to. She went away stronger, with more skills and a new sense of self, a brimming kind of confidence, and Charles can’t help but admire the strength behind her bright, golden eyes. Raven has finally found the skin that fits her best.

 

‘She’s a very strong woman.’ Erik commented as they followed behind a giddy Raven at a more sedated pace.

 

There was a bounce and a skip in her steps, a brightness he hasn’t seen in her in a very long time. ‘I know.’

 

‘It’s time to stop hiding.’

 

 ‘I know.’ He caught the double meaning in his words, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet, not the way Raven was.

 

He’s been holding her back from her full potential for years and years now. No more.

 

\--

 

The next day began with a crash, belatedly followed by a, ‘oh my god, Charles, what happened?’

 

He turned to Moira, and watched as she skipped one step back from the scalding coffee on the tiled floor.

 

Charles realized he must look a right mess, but he didn’t think it looked that badly. He took a look in the mirror that morning, he looked different, bruised and beaten, but it was a good kind of different. He could see subtle hints of strength where he was certain wasn’t there before, not before this training regime.

 

‘It’s been a while,’ he said as he opened up the cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and proceeded to pick up the larger pieces of broken porcelain. ‘I hid them previously because I didn’t want to startle anybody.’

 

She stood by the door awkwardly, but made sure not to move around too much; she could still see some large pieces lying close to her and she was surprised she didn’t prick herself on it when she jumped back earlier.

 

‘You did a wonderful job hiding them.’

 

He noted, with a bit of concern, the irritation in her voice, but he also noted the worry that she couldn’t help but show in the way she held her body and the way she looked at him.

 

Charles threw the broken pieces away, then started looking around for a brush and pan. When he couldn’t, he decided to use a wet dish cloth instead and hoped he got every little piece of it off the kitchen floor.

 

‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ He asked and carefully maneuvered her towards the chair.

 

‘Of the two of us, I think I should be asking you that question,’ she said with a small smile, though her concern for him increased when she noticed the other bruises hiding just beneath the collar of his sweat-shirt. ‘Charles, what on earth are you doing to yourself?’

 

‘What everybody else is doing,’ he pulled the gloves off, threw them out and gave the floor a good, thorough inspection. Yes, every bit of broken porcelain is taken care of. ‘We’re training.’ He picked up his cup of earl grey and offered to make her one. She agreed to let him make her a cup, but only if it’s full of coffee.

 

\--

 

Hank came by that afternoon for another session, and Erik was immensely pleased by the progress he was making with the absence of his glasses. He still missed a lot, still stood a good four feet away from his target, but once he got up close and personal, then his attacks would become relentless in the same way it would when he became engrossed in an idea and pursued it.

 

Raven appeared half-way into the sparring session in time to see Hank get punched in the face but return it with a hard pull of the arm and equally hard strike in the gut. She hummed in appreciation, which brought to attention her presence and which also threw him completely off-guard. He let out a shout of surprise when his feet were kicked out from under him and he landed with a harsh thump on his back.

 

‘Distractions, we need to work on that next.’ Erik commented as he helped the boy up to his feet again. ‘If you allow your attention to become divided, it could be— ’

 

‘Disastrous, yes, I know.’ Hank sighed as he put his glasses back on and squinted against the clarity. It was an odd change.

 

‘Is it my turn, yet?’ Raven asked as she bounded up to them with enthusiasm in her steps.

 

Charles wondered when she developed such a sense for violence and was mildly amused when Hank voiced his exact concerns. Perhaps Erik was right to say that they shared a certain commonality.

 

They didn’t get a chance to start on it when Sean popped his out of the window and started shouting at them, asking them what they were doing.

 

‘We’re training!’ Raven shouted back and gestured for him to come down, ‘get Alex and join us!’

 

The day turned out to be more productive than both Charles and Erik had originally hoped for.

 

Alex was street-smart, enough said. Sean was weak, but he was quick with ducking and running away. He’s more defense than offense and as long as he knew never to underestimate an enemy, then he’s fine.

 

\--

 

It’s been days since Charles finally felt able to not only drink, but have a clear enough head (pain-free) to play a couple rounds of chess, but his moves were sloppy; all over the place, and Erik would be blind not to have notice.

 

‘Charles, is something wrong?’

 

He changed his mind, moved his rook instead of his castle and then belatedly realized that he should’ve stuck with the castle. He sighed as he sat back in his chair and took a generous sip of bourbon. ‘Time is running out.’

 

It’s like returning to college and having to sit through tests and multiple exams all over again. Charles couldn’t help but feel frantic and on the verge of falling off the ledge.

 

Erik moved his knight, became a mere two moves away from putting Charles’ king in check, and stared at the man with a careful gaze.

 

Charles frowned and downed the rest of his drink without thought. ‘No, it’s run out, completely.’ The president’s speech threw everything into harsh perspective; they have until tomorrow to set things right or suffer a new, harsh reality. ‘We…’ he swallowed against the burn in his throat as he locked gazes with Erik, ‘we need more time.’ _I need more time._

 

‘We don’t have it.’ They’ve prepared the others as best as they could, to the best of their abilities, and they’ve helped each other find balance in each other, mind and body. This is the best they could do with the amount of time they were given. Erik was thankful they had been given this much. It’s enough.

 

Irritated, frustrated and feeling terribly apprehensive, Charles stood from his chair, left the game as it was and hoped to drown his worries and insecurities away with more alcohol. He didn’t manage to pour half as much as he wanted to when Erik put a hand on the bottle and stopped him.

 

‘Calm down,’ he said as he pried the bottle away and gently set it to the side, ‘you’ll be no good to us if you’re nursing a hangover in the morning.’

 

‘It’s very hard,’ he began as he slid the glass away from his fingertips, less temptation, ‘when all I can feel is everybody’s uncertainties and thoughts of dying and death.’

 

‘If they remember what we teach them, they won’t have to worry about that.’ He’s confident that, come the right time, they’ll know what to do.

 

‘Can you guarantee it?’ Charles asked quietly as he stared unseeingly at the wall, ‘We’ll live to see another day?’

 

Something was clawing at him from the inside, making him feel jittery and less than level-headed. It wasn’t a good feeling and with everybody else’s emotions piling up on top of his, he couldn’t help but second-guess himself and his abilities.

 

‘No, I cannot guarantee it,’ Erik held onto his shoulders firmly, and gave him a gentle shake, ‘but you need to remember this; you are not alone.’ _No more._

 

It made an interesting turn of events, but the words helped to calm him down. Perhaps it was what he’s been waiting to hear all along, what everybody’s been hoping to hear; _you are not alone_.

 

Almost immediately, the tension that had been flowing through the house like a traumatized wraith dissipated. Determination, confidence and _boundless energy_ took over in its place and Charles felt reassured that they will all be fine. He’s sure of it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The world was moving around him in constant circles and he fought against the urge to fall to his knees and throw up in a fit of nausea. The compulsion to shut his eyes tight to drown out the pain in his mind and the ache in his body felt overwhelming.  As he took one staggered step after another towards the beach, towards Erik, he felt something inside of him break and shatter to pieces.

 

 _Breathe, breathe, need to breathe._

 

His mind felt raw and too exposed. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus, and the spot where he could see Erik standing but couldn’t _feel_ him made him lose his footing more than once. _How did this come to be?_

 

‘They’ve made their move against us; this is ours.’

 

The missiles were flying back. He could feel the awe, shame, guilt and relief of everyone on the beach. _It’s their fault, not ours._ He could feel the wave of trepidation, dread, and resignation of all the men on the ships. _Orders were orders._ He needs to stop this.

 

 _Erik, Erik, please. Don’t do this._

 

Charles couldn’t rely on his mind, or his words, so he drew back to his most primal instinct, the only thing he knew left – his fists. He knew he wouldn’t win, impossible to even consider, but he’d try his damndest. He’d do anything to stop Erik from making the biggest mistake of their lives.

 

 _Don’t do this to me!_

 

He never thought that one day he’d have to raise his fist against Erik in a non-friendly setting. He never thought that they would ever become enemies, but now they’re both grappling for an upper hand on the hot sands of the Cuban beach. Erik couldn’t afford to lose, and Charles couldn’t afford to let the man win. So he tried desperately to take in each and every punch that’s sent his way, deliver what he could in between his hurts, but ultimately, Erik is the victor. A man whose life that has constantly revolved around fighting and death and _action_ will always win over a man whose life has been about education, paperwork and equality.

 

One well-delivered punch caused stars to appear in dozens across his vision, and he could hear an explosion in the air, two, three. He could hear Moira seething in fury, could hear Raven crying in distress, could hear everybody shouting _no_ , and he could hear the men on the ships saying _I wished I kissed my wife goodbye instead of yelled at her. I should’ve stayed behind to hold my baby boy before I left for this. We shouldn’t have pushed the button. Goodbye gentlemen, it’s been an honor working with you all._ Stars were still dotted across his eyes, but he could see Moira with a gun in her hand, determination in her eyes, he could see Erik’s legs, and he didn’t think about it; just did it, so he yanked them hard.

 

Erik fell to his knees in a thud, startled at the loss of balance, and Charles took advantage of that momentary lapse in concentration and sat on top of him, fingers gripping onto his uniform until his knuckles turned white.

 

‘If you kill them, you’ll kill me. You’ve already killed Shaw and I’m already half-gone. Finish them off and I’ll go with them.’ It’s not a threat, it’s a promise; he _will_ leave, regardless of whether he wants to or not. To be surrounded by the deaths of hundreds of men would be catastrophic to his already fragile mind.

 

 _Don’t do this to me. Please._

 

He was desperate, and all he could feel was the pain shooting down his back and all over his body, the shock from everybody on the beach and the accumulation of all the relief he could feel on the ships as the missiles plunged and exploded into the sea instead of crashing onto them. He didn’t realize he was crying until he saw droplets of water land on Erik’s helmet. He didn’t realize he was crying until Erik tried to wipe his tears away with sand-coated hands, the same hands that delivered bruise after bruise after bruise in the weeks leading up to this momentous event. He didn’t realize he was crying until he’s crying in earnest.

 

‘Take it off. Take it off, take it off, take it off, _please_ ,’ he couldn’t stop repeating it, the sentence becoming more and more desperate and frantic as he tightened his grip on Erik’s uniform and as he tried to shake some sense into the man. His vision became blurred and he couldn’t think straight. He wouldn’t stop saying it, couldn’t, not even for the life of him. He didn’t see when Erik took off the helmet, but he could feel it, and it’s a relief; he can finally breathe.

 

The next thing he did was faint.

 

\--

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this tired, this boneless, this weak; he couldn’t even budge. Charles felt as though he just ran a 25 mile marathon, rode on a bike for twice that distance and decided, just for the heck of it, swim across an entire ocean and back again. The worst he could ever remember waking up to was with a bruise across his cheek, two on his sternum and solar plexus, two on his ribs, one low on his waist, and one deep in the gut. There had also three across his back, one more pronounced than the others, a matching bruise on both of his shins and a crushed foot, toes included. For some reason, he found that comparison much more bearable than this lack of motion and lack of feeling. He figured he might as well be dead.

 

‘No, you’re not dead,’ a low voice said and Charles couldn’t even turn his head towards it, ‘but you came close to it, so I was told.’

 

He couldn’t make his voice work, not in the slightest, and his head felt like mud, for lack of any other proper word to use to describe it with. He couldn’t do anything much of anything else, save for blinking and just breathing.

 

Erik sighed, brushed a hand across Charles’ forehead and placed a cool towel on top. ‘Go back to sleep.’

 

He did so without complaint.

 

\--

 

Letting go of Moira had been one of the hardest decisions in his life. But, he decided, if they were to promote the talk of coexistence and equality between mutant and human relations, then they’d need to start with an open ear, an open mind and an ally on their side. Moira took that job upon herself and returned to the CIA with a firmer understanding of them and with a kind of conviction that almost rivaled against what Charles had.

 

It was slow work, difficult most of the time and impossible in some others. They never left to go on a debate or meeting with less than five other people with them. The humans were welcome to come prepared with guns and hidden weapons somewhere on their persons, but that’s where Erik would come in. He’d hold them back, but no more than that as Charles talked about the many advantages of working together as a community, as a whole, as part of the world.

 

There were days where Erik grew tired with Charles’ optimism for a better tomorrow, but he was also tired of fighting and tired of seeing Charles finish the day with a different kind of slump than before. Before, there had been nothing but bruises to blame, but it was different now, it was the slump of defeat.

 

Yet, Charles would begin the next day with the resolve to try harder, to be the better man. He could come off as both intimidating and kind. Gentle but firm in his beliefs. He wouldn’t push or force people into acceptance, but only ask that they understand the full situation before making a complete decision.

 

It was well over two years from the Cuban Missile Crisis that one day, Charles and Erik decided that it was going to be just the two of them. No need to intimidate or crowd the room, or shock them into stunned silence.

 

‘Are you sure about this?’ Hank asked and thought that he should’ve tested the suits for more durability. He knew that it worked fine with one or two bullets shot into it and still come out fine, but half a dozen or more? He bit his bottom lip in anxiety.

 

‘They know we’re coming; it’s fine.’

 

‘We’ll be fine.’ Erik repeated when Charles showed him Hank’s projection about bullets and lots of it, enough to fill a machine gun. He tried not to smirk at the challenge.

 

Hank sighed. ‘If you say so.’

 

Charles nodded, and they were gone in an instant, standing in the middle of the president’s office the next. Azazel disappeared out a strict habit not to hang around; he wasn’t the type to stay and listen. It was also because he was red and looked like the Devil. People tended to shoot him on sight without prompt.

 

‘Guards!’

 

Six men rounded on them, all of them with guns.

 

Charles panicked and brought a hand up to his head, two fingers on his temple. ‘It’s 2 o’clock! Didn’t you get the memo?’

 

One of them pulled the trigger and the others promptly followed. In the next second, the bullets halted in mid air and the magazines were pulled out to hang uselessly about the room. After two ticks, one of the men decided to swing it around as a makeshift bludgeon.

 

‘Sir, it’s rather distressing that you—put that gun away, there’s no need for—oh, for heaven’s sake!’

 

Erik couldn’t help but feel impressed at the well-executed punch Charles delivered to the bodyguard belonging to the President of the United States of America. He wasn’t impressed, however, when Charles took the free seat opposite the stricken man and started harping about genetics and DNA and mutations and that’s it’s OK; we’re not here to hurt you. He’s not impressed, but it’s Charles, and he supposed he couldn’t have one without the other.

 

‘You startled me.’ The man said in a quiet shiver half-way into Charles’ spiel. Six of his best bodyguards were down for the count. One with a punch across the face and the other five knocked out with the butt of the gun they held.

 

He blinked. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, but I was very certain that we’re supposed to have a meeting today, 2 o’clock. Didn’t you get the memo?’ Charles asked again, ‘I’ve been asking for a meeting with you for years.’

 

The President began to rummage around his desk, looking in drawers and under files and folders. Then they noticed a small, yellow post-it note lying inconspicuously on top of his desk calendar, one he hardly ever looked at.

 

‘Oh, would you look at that,’ he said, with something in his voice sounding like shame for having missed it and anger for not being verbally reminded. He let it go. ‘Well then, please continue.’

 

Charles smiled and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Two of the guards were slowly coming out of consciousness, but Erik made sure to keep all weapons out of their reach, even the envelop opener.

 

It was almost like Charles’ got a switch up in his brain, one for talking and the other for punching if they wouldn’t sit quietly and _listen_. Those were the moments where Erik would have difficulty hiding a smile behind a hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over and over. It feels like I rushed it a bit, but honestly, I couldn't figure out what else to do between the moment in the beach and the moment of their conclusion. Bah. Maybe I'll rework on it later, but for now, I have other ideas to pursue and they are tenacious...
> 
> Thanks to everybody who commented on and off site, those who bookmarked and left kudos as well! I hope you all enjoyed the read and I hope you'll also take the time to read my future (and past) works, too.
> 
> Expect something within the next week. It'll probably be a one-shot? I had something down but it's not finished...Hur-hur...
> 
> But anyway!! Cheers to you all!


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